Magic Man
by HowDracoGotHisGrooveBack
Summary: Draco has been exiled to live in the Muggle World, where he's actually doing alright as an amateur stage magician. Harry has been tasked to determine if he's using real magic to enhance his performances.


This was written for a prompt on LJ asking for Living as a Muggle!Manipulative!Stage Magician!Draco.

WARNING: This is a very fluffy fic, but the smut is a wee bit problematic since Harry is an Auror and Draco is serving a sentence. However, they're both on board and that's why I'm not posting a warning for dub-con. Still, if this dynamic is an issue, consider skipping over this fic.

* * *

"He's doing **what?!"**

Harry cringed as Kingsley's outraged bellow rang out, startling a number of unfortunates in the immediate vicinity. Auror Abbas yelped in alarm. Orwell, the office hamster, squeaked and scuttled behind his salt lick for safety. A trainee started and fudged up the Copying Charm he was executing— resulting in what appeared to be several hundred variations of the same poster.

One of the posters came to rest at Harry's feet. It featured a kitten dangling playfully from a length of rope and cheerfully stated 'Hang in There' _._

Oh, Harry was trying. Fat lot of good it did him, but he _was_ trying.

"What do you mean," Kingsley growled, "he's doing magic?"

"I didn't say he's doing magic," Harry corrected. "I said he's a magician."

Kingsley eye was starting to twitch, and Harry took a prudent step back. "It's not what you think," he blurted hastily. "He's not casting spells, he's just pretending to."

"Good grief, _why?"_

Kingsley just looked baffled now. Harry suppressed a groan and pressed two fingers to his head, trying to will away the headache that always flared up when the conversation involved Draco Malfoy.

"Okay, so it's like this," he began, preparing himself for a long and not entirely pleasant explanation. "Muggles— well, most of them— are fascinated with magic. Not real magic, but the idea of it. Parlour tricks, smoke and mirrors, illusions…that sort of thing. So, in the Muggle world, there are stage performers who claim they can do magic. These Muggle performers are called magicians and they get paid to do things that most Muggles would conceive as magic. But they're not. They're just tricks."

There was a beat of silence.

"I…see," Kingsley finally said.

Harry didn't think he saw at all.

"So Malfoy is a magician?" Kingsley pressed. Evidently, he was determined to understand this.

"Yes," Harry agreed.

"But he's also a wizard."

"Yes."

"So he's a wizard who can do magic pretending to be a Muggle who can do magic but actually can't?"

"I…" Harry sighed in defeat. "Yes."

Kingsley sighed heavily and slumped into his chair. "Sometimes," he declared, "I think about retiring. Taking up in a cottage by a lake somewhere. Rearing crups and reorganizing my Quill collection." He gave Harry a flat look. "Then your parolee pulls shite like this and I have to double my recommended dosage of Calming Potions."

"He's not _my_ parolee." Harry bristled indignantly. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy was strictly and exclusively the DMLE's headache. Harry only dealt with him because Kingsley made him do it. "This isn't my fault," he protested. "It wasn't my idea to sentence a Pureblood Wizard to five years of living in the Muggle world. I do my job, don't I? I'm check up on the bloke once a month. So long as he's not destroying his microwave or riding the Tube from end to end because— and I quote— 'it looked like fun, now help me, I'm nauseous', then I'm off the bleeding clock!"

Kingsley looked a bit stunned by his rant. Harry scowled and hunched his shoulders defensively. He didn't mean to go off like that, but dealing with Malfoy was…well, it was complicated. When he'd joined the DMLE, Harry had hoped to leave his past behind. Instead, it had followed him and was at this moment, prancing about London creating Merlin knows what mayhem.

It wasn't that the sentence hadn't been fair. Malfoy certainly hadn't deserved Azkaban, and living with Muggles had been good for him. At least, Harry thought it was. But, seeing his old school rival so often— even if it was for only a few hours a month— just reminded him that he hadn't really left his unresolved yesteryears behind.

Malfoy still inspired that curious blend of frustration, intrigue and longing in him. It didn't help that the git looked more attractive every time Harry met him— denims and fitted shirts with rolled up sleeves had so much more to offer than the conservative robes that Malfoy had once favoured. And the spark— that odd chemistry they'd always had— was still there. Every single one of their meetings ended up either in a shouting match or a light-hearted bickering fest that left Harry feeling giddy and oddly content…

…until he went back to his one bedroom flat and had to content himself with a lonely wank.

There was no middle ground with Malfoy and that was disorienting, to say the least.

"If you don't like the way I'm handling Malfoy's case, then feel free to hand him over to someone else," he found himself saying. The sad little twinge he felt at the thought of not seeing Malfoy again only strengthened his resolve. These feelings were not healthy…and Malfoy was a parolee. Harry confessed to only skimming the DMLE Code of Conduct but he was pretty sure _that_ sort of thing was frowned upon.

"No, no, no," Kingsley grumbled, waving his protests off. "I'm not saying you haven't done a good job, Harry— especially given the circumstances. It's just…why would you encourage Malfoy to pursue this particular profession? So much could go wrong and…"

Harry threw his arms up in frustration. "Well, what else can he do?" he demanded. "He was brought up to depend almost entirely on magic. He's helpless without it! He doesn't understand Muggle money or how to use a telephone or hell, how to load a dishwasher. He got fired from every job I got him— didn't even last a week at the supermarket. It wasn't even a real suggestion! He was just…all moody and depressed after getting sacked, so I showed him a few card tricks to cheer him up and the next thing I know…"

Kingsley raised an eyebrow and Harry trailed off with a slight blush. He hadn't intended to reveal the extent of his involvement in this mess. But he still remembered the way Draco's eyes had lit up when he shuffled the cards. The memory made something tug in his chest and Harry resolutely ignored it.

"The point is," he stated firmly, "that he's not making trouble any more. He's got a steady job— one he loves— and he's getting a whole new perspective on Muggles, which is the whole point of this sentence. So, why is this such a big deal?"

"Why is this a big deal," Kingsley echoed dryly. "Tell me, Harry. Did you return Malfoy's wand after the War?"

Harry stiffened. "That's a personal matter and it has nothing to do with this," he said defensively. "It's his wand and he should have it, even if he's not allowed to use it."

"But he has it," Kingsley pressed. "In theory, he could use it."

"He's not…"

"Harry, you just told me that he performs magic tricks for a living. How do you know he's not supplementing those tricks with real magic? A Charm, here and there? A small spell to enhance the illusion?"

Harry's jaw clenched.

"Even if he is— which he's not, I'm telling you— it's not hurting anyone."

"It's breaking the law!" Kingsley snapped. "Why is it a big deal, you ask? Because Malfoy is breaking a little something we call the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy! If he's going on stage and casting spells in front of hundreds of people, don't you think that's something to worry about? In case you've forgotten, the boy is a former Death Eater who…"

"Oh, come on!" Harry cut in, his frustration finally getting the better of him. "He was sixteen! And he's serving his sentence, isn't he? Name one other parolee who's made the type of progress Malfoy has! He's trying and all you can do is get all bent out of shape because you _think_ he's violating the terms of his parole. Well, I'm the Auror heading his case and I'm telling you that my parolee…"

"So _now_ he's your parolee," Kingsley drawled.

Harry shut up mid-sentence and glowered stubbornly.

Kingsley sighed and rubbed his temples. "I don't know what to tell you, Harry," he sighed. "The laws exist to protect us, to protect Muggles. It's our job to make sure they're followed and if Malfoy is using magic— something expressly forbidden by the terms of his parole…"

"I'm telling you he's not!"

"And I'm telling you there's no way you could possibly know that!" Kingsley shouted, thumping a fist on his desk. "Now, listen up because this is a direct order! You confiscate that wand the next time you see Malfoy or I will! Do you understand, Auror Potter?"

Harry's jaw was clenched so hard he could hear his teeth grinding. "Yes, sir," he bit out.

"Good," Kingsley stated with a sharp nod. "You're dismissed."

Harry turned on his heel, resisting the urge to slam the door on his way out.

"Harry, wait just a minute. I have another question."

Harry sighed and turned around. Kingsley frowned and scratched his chin, presumably puzzling over something.

"How come Muggles aren't scared of these magician people?" he demanded. "If they think they can do magic, how come they aren't having those witch-hunts and what not?"

And the headache was back. "Because the Muggles know it's not real magic. It's just trickery and showmanship."

"I…see."

Harry sighed wearily.

"So the magicians are pretending it's magic but it's all fake," Kingsley clarified.

"Yes."

"And the Muggles know it's all fake but they're pretending it's magic."

"Yes."

"So everyone's pretending but they still pay to see it?"

Harry just shrugged.

Kingsley nodded soberly. "It's no wonder Malfoy is doing so well with the Muggles," he declared. "Apparently, they're as mad as he is."

Harry turned and left, not trusting himself to say another a word.

* * *

As Harry emerged from the phone booth exit into the heart of London, he thought that maybe it was a good thing that Kingsley didn't know about the extent of Malfoy's popularity.

The man was actually doing quite well for himself.

He had weekly shows at a number of theatres— not West End material, but still— and he was in talks with a local TV station over a weekly segment. He had also been named as the 'Hottest New Talent to Look Out For' by Magic Magazine's UK Division (that had made him happy) and 'The Next Criss Angel' by Smoke and Mirrors (that had made him livid).

The internet was going bonkers over him too, and not entirely for his skills as an illusionist. His Instagram hosted a dazzling array of selfies— most of them featuring Malfoy shirtless and grinning devilishly at the camera while he did fuck all, magic or otherwise. Nevertheless, as Harry grudgingly browsed through the countless pictures of Malfoy quirking his eyebrows, tousling his hair and showing off a set of collarbones that should be illegal, he grudgingly admitted that he could see the appeal. So could everyone else, if the thousands of 'likes' those pictures got were anything to go by.

Inexplicably irritated, Harry shoved thoughts of Malfoy's stupid photos from his mind and made his way to a small theatre. Friday was always a big day, and he wanted to see Malfoy and get this wand business over with before the crowds came in.

Oh, this was going to be so very unpleasant.

Harry sighed and slipped in via the service entrance, making his way backstage. He went unnoticed in the flurry of activity— Malfoy hadn't reached a level of stardom where he needed to worry about crazy stalkers yet— and headed for the dressing rooms. Nodding absently to the director, Layla Seaton— Malfoy had introduced Harry as 'a friend from school' the last time they'd met— he went on, and finally found himself facing a door.

 _Derek Mason,_ the name plate proudly announced _._

Malfoy's entry into the Muggle world had required quite a lot of paperwork: licenses, birth certificates and what not. At the time, Harry had suggested taking an innocuous name that wouldn't draw much attention to him. He should have known that names had nothing to do with it— Malfoy thrived on attention and one way or another, he got it.

With a sigh, he knocked and swung the door open.

A bird swooped over his head.

"Salazar, Potter! Close the damn door!"

Harry obligingly shut the door while Malfoy retrieved his dove— of course it was a dove— and put her back in the cage.

"There there, Clarisse," he murmured gently. "There's a good girl…"

Harry absently wondered if all magicians named their doves. He had a feeling it was just Malfoy.

"Got a minute?" he asked, when Malfoy made no attempt to acknowledge him.

Malfoy shrugged and turned to the mirror, fussing with his artfully tousled hair. He was dressed simply— in the same trademark jeans, shirt and expensive sneakers Harry had seen a hundred times. Apparently, the whole cloak-top hat-white gloves look was unacceptable, nowadays. Not that Harry was complaining. His eyes lazily drifted to the curve of Malfoy's arse and he swallowed around a sudden dryness in his throat.

"Only just," Malfoy replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair again. "Show's on in fifteen and Layla's going to murder me if I'm not ready in ten."

"Oh." Harry shuffled uneasily. "Well, I can wait if…"

"Potter, just sit down, for Merlin's sake. I'm nearly done."

So, Harry sat.

Finally, when Malfoy deemed his appearance satisfactory, he abandoned the mirror and perched in a chair from across him. He grinned and not for the first time, Harry's breath caught at the sight of those stormy, grey eyes and those refined features. He really did look magical, he mused absently. There was an aura of mystery and mischief about him, and it was hard to tell if it was cultivated or natural.

"So," Malfoy said, "what brings my favourite parole officer to this humble performance? Here to arrest me, Potter?"

"No, of course not," Harry blurted out.

"Pity," Malfoy drawled. "I was hoping you'd bring out the handcuffs." He grinned and waggled his fingers in Harry's face. "Fair warning though, I can get out of them."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aurors don't use handcuffs, as you very well know," he informed his parolee with what he hoped was an appropriate amount of professional disapproval. "I'm here to discuss something else."

"Oh? Well, by all means, go ahead."

Well, here it comes.

"Remember when I gave you back your wand?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. His posture stiffened and the easy energy in the room dissipated. Harry had a feeling that he knew where this was going and he wasn't going to like it.

"Yes, I seem to remember you returning my personal property which you had no right or authorisation to keep," he conceded, with an acidic smile.

"Yes, well…things have changed."

"Have they now?"

"Malfoy, please." Harry sighed and scrubbed his hair awkwardly. "The DMLE has…reasonable suspicions about your profession. They think you might be enhancing your performances with real spells and as you know that would violate the International Stat…"

"Do you?"

Harry trailed off. "What?"

Malfoy leaned forward, his eyes intent and piercing. "Do _you_ think I'm using spells in my shows?" he repeated, and his tone just dared Harry to answer.

"I…" Harry faltered. There was no way he was getting out of it this time, he just knew it. "I'd understand if you were," he offered finally. "You struggled a lot when this thing started, I know it's been a rough time for you. But you've really made something of yourself. I'm really proud of you for making it this far and…"

"Proud of me?" Malfoy barked. He stood up, and oh, Harry just knew he'd said the wrong thing. "You're proud of me?" Malfoy echoed incredulously. "You arrogant, condescending…do you have any idea what this has been like for me? The work I've put in to get this far? I was thrown into a world I was taught to fear and hate, I had nothing and nobody to call my own, I spent countless nights just trying to keep it together…but of course it's must all be worth it because the Saviour is _proud_ of me!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Harry snapped, feeling frustrated and defensive. "I just meant…that it's not a big deal to me personally if you're using spells in your acts! But if the DMLE decides to investigate you…"

"They'll find nothing!" Malfoy hissed. "I haven't touched that wand, not once! I know what a violated parole means, Potter. I'm not stupid!"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry demanded. "Just let me take the wand and show Kingsley we're good. Nothing has to change, for Godric's sake!"

Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously. "It matters," he said. "It matters because after three years, the least I deserve is trust! From you! Merlin, Potter, I thought…"

He trailed off and stormed back to the mirror, but Harry could hear what had been left unsaid.

 _I thought we were friends._

"Mal…Draco, please," he said, taking a chance and putting a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. He wasn't at all surprised when it was promptly shrugged off. "I told you it doesn't matter to me. As far as I'm concerned, you've done your time. I just…I don't want you to get in trouble, that's all."

"So you're taking my wand," Draco clarified.

"I…yes." It hurt to say it, but he didn't have a choice, did he? It wasn't like he wanted to, Draco had to understand that.

Evidently, he didn't. When he turned back to Harry, his expression was blank. Shuttered. And Harry felt despair twinge deep inside him.

"Summon it," Draco said.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Summon the wand, Potter," Draco snarled. "You can do magic, I can't! Remember?"

Harry had the presence of mind not to answer that question. He just pulled out his wand reluctantly. "Accio Draco's wand," he mumbled.

A wand flew out from behind the dresser and landed in his palm with a smart thwack. Harry observed it in growing confusion. The wand was made of shiny plastic; it was black with a white tip. When he waved it tentatively, it spat out a stream of confetti. He stared, dumbfounded. What the actual…

"It was a gag gift from Layla," Draco explained. "I kept it for laughs."

"Where's your real wand?" Harry asked.

Draco scowled at him. "At my flat. In a box. Locked under my bed. I don't carry my wand around with me anymore because _I don't need it_ and that's why you can't summon it. Because it's not here!"

Oh.

Guilt bubbled up inside him, thick and suffocating. "Draco," Harry mumbled, "I'm sorry. I…"

"I paid my dues," Draco cut in. "I struggled and worked harder than I've ever worked and that's how I got here. I thought you knew that. I thought you understood that."

"I did. I do. I just…"

"Clearly not. Come over to mine after the show and take the bloody wand. I don't need it. And I sure as hell don't need you."

And before Harry could apologise, or even say another word, he swept out of the room and stormed off to the stage.

* * *

There was nothing for it but to wait out the rest of the show. It was a morose and guilty Harry who took his seat in the packed theatre, waiting for 'Derek Mason' to work his magic.

"He is so _awesome,"_ a little girl sitting beside him whispered. "I've been his biggest fan since I was like, eight!"

Harry quirked an amused grin. She couldn't be more than nine or ten now, but it felt rude to point that out.

"He's really good," he agreed amiably.

She gazed at the stage with stars in her eyes. "Do you think he'll take a selfie with me?"

Before he could respond, the stage lights flared up and applause broke out. Harry clapped along, but his mind was still on a certain grey eyed, gorgeous man who made magic out of nothing and enchanted little girls.

He wondered if Malfoy would ever speak to him again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for the master of magic himself: Derek Mason!"

Cheers rang out. The applause was deafening and the lights were bright.

Draco sauntered out on the stage.

And the show began.

* * *

Harry was mesmerised.

The whole thing was…well, it was magical.

It started off slowly. The soft lights and gentle music lent an aura of mystery to the performance. The extras fluttered about on stage, dancing stars under twinkling lights. It was mellow and soft and Harry could sense the audience immerse themselves in this strange new world, in Draco's world.

And then, he began.

The music picked up and a steady beat thrummed, the lights flashing bright as Draco started pulling cards out of thin air. They appeared in his hands as if they'd been summoned, they fell from his fingers and fanned out amongst the audience.

One of the cards landed near Harry and he picked it up.

Jack of Hearts.

Of course.

"You keep this one. I think he meant to give it to you," he said to the little girl, smiling when she accepted it with a delighted squeal.

Then came the rings. Harry forced himself to concentrate, but he could barely follow Draco's movements as he tossed the rings in the air, caught them, twirled and twisted them, tossed them again, somehow set them on fire and then emerged with a perfectly linked chain at the end of it all. When he tossed the rings in the air again and somehow ended up with a giant hoop that was as tall as he was, Harry admitted defeat.

The smoke was a revelation. Clouds of white mist suddenly wafted up from the stage, surrounding Draco. Harry frowned, keeping a close eye on the slim shadow in the mist. Then Draco waved his hands and the mist thickened, swirling and seemingly taking shape until it resembled an actual, physical object in his hands and…

…and Clarisse the dove was suddenly fluttering in Draco's hands, taking flight as soon as he let her go.

The applause was deafening now, almost drowning out the music. Harry watched in awe. It wasn't like he hadn't seen this stuff before. Of course he knew it was all smoke and mirrors, parlour tricks for gullible minds.

But that didn't take away from the fact that it required tremendous amounts of skill. Draco wasn't just tossing cards and rings about, he was redefining the limits of what was possible, of what creativity and spark and sheer talent could do. He was giving these people something beyond the ordinary and all he needed to do it was his own two hands.

Harry couldn't think of a single wizard who could do what he was seeing here today.

They were moving on to the second part of the act now. Draco turned to the audience with a rakish grin, the beat sped up, the lights went from mellow blue to blinding silver.

The extras wheeled the box out on stage and then in one smooth leap, Draco was in it.

Harry wasn't even going to pretend he understood how Draco did what he did next. All he knew was that illusions or not, this shouldn't be possible. The only explanation was that Draco had somehow removed his torso and a good part of his lower limbs and that's how he'd managed to stay inside the box which had suddenly shrunk to one tenth its original size.

It went on and on.

A woman was sawed in half and put back together, a box full of burly men shrunk down to nothing and resized itself with the men gone, a motorcycle managed to manifest from behind a paper thin screen…

And Harry watched, enraptured and enchanted.

Then something new happened.

The lights were dimmed, the melody became low and haunting again, punctuated only be a steady thrum.

The final act. Harry's eyes widened and he could swear everyone in the audience was holding their breath.

The tank was wheeled on stage— a rectangular glass plated box that was just a little taller than Draco himself.

And it was filled to the brim with water.

 _No._

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Draco whipped out a pair of handcuffs. The audience murmurs grew concerned and worried, the little girl gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth, Harry's fist clenched and his heartbeat escalated.

Draco just smiled and lifted a finger to his lips, requesting silence.

An extra slipped the cuffs on him, immobilising him with his hands behind his back. Then came the ropes. The extras made a show of tying Draco up until his arms were almost covered in tight strips of fabric, they tugged and pulled at the binds to show that they were legitimate.

The rope was lowered and a steel hook glistened at the end.

Harry watched in horror as Draco was attached to it, then lifted off his feet with a jerk.

Oh Merlin, no! Harry forced himself to keep still. _It's an act,_ he reminded himself. _He knows what he's doing._

 _But what if something goes wrong?_

There was no time to stage a protest. Draco nodded and then, before anyone could even think of stopping this, he was plunged headfirst into the tank. A lid slammed shut on the top, blocking the only escape route.

Draco was in the water, tied up, handcuffed and Godric save him, with maybe a minute or two to get loose.

Harry could barely stand to watch it, but he couldn't look away either. His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat a rapid tattoo against his chest.

Draco started twisting and turning, contorting his body any which way he could.

The whole thing was agonisingly slow, as far as Harry was concerned. The seconds ticked like hours and every time Draco twitched, Harry imagined that it was a cry for help, a plea to get him out, to let him breathe before he…

The ropes slipped off, sliding to the bottom of the tank.

The audience cheered, and the relief was palpable.

Draco's face was a study in concentration. The cuffs were stubborn, and it was obvious that they were giving him trouble. He kicked out and it was obvious that he was getting a bit frustrated now.

Harry had to keep his fist tightly clenched and keep his magic under control. He was so wound up that he might end up inadvertently casting a Blasting Hex on that damned water tank…

One hand came free and the audience roared their approval. Then the second. Harry had never been so relieved. The cuffs sank to the bottom and Draco swam for the surface, unlocking the box with a sharp click and emerging from the water.

Harry rose to his feet and cheered, yelling and whooping and cheering with the crowd.

Merlin, if that wasn't the most spectacular thing he'd ever seen! Well, perhaps the second most— the best thing he'd seen all night was Draco, safe and sound, soaking wet, grinning and eyes dancing with delight as he took a final bow and basked in the glory.

And he deserved it. Every bit of it.

Harry's throat tightened as he recalled their argument.

Draco was right to feel hurt. Harry had diminished him, and no, it didn't matter even if Draco was using spells in all his acts. The fact that he was here and still so strong and proud and fierce in a world he had once shunned— that was magic enough.

Harry needed to tell him that, to show him that. He just didn't know how.

He barely noticed that the show wasn't over yet. It was only when Draco grabbed a microphone that he started paying attention again.

"You enjoy that?" Draco asked the crowd.

They roared their approval.

"Thank you, you've been a great crowd tonight. As always, it's been a pleasure but it's time for me to say goodnight so…"

Groans and catcalls and demands for more rang out, and Draco smirked.

"More, you say? Well, I might have one more trick in hand…"

More applause. More whoops and cheers and a steady chant of _'Derek Derek Derek'_ started somewhere.

"…but I need a volunteer from the audience."

Oh.

Just like that, Harry saw his chance. If there was ever a way to prove to Draco that he was firmly in his corner, this was it.

He rose to his feet, hand high in the air…

…just like everybody else in the theatre.

"Me!"

"Pick me!"

"No, me! I want to!"

The crowd screamed and hands flew higher and higher, each one demanding to be picked.

"Me!" Harry yelled as loud as he possibly could.

He needed this! He had to do this! Draco had to pick him!

And he wasn't going to pick him if he couldn't see him!

"Me!" he howled, clambering on his chair. "Draco, pick me! Pick me, damn it!"

He would never understand just why Draco's eyes landed on him in a crowd of hundreds. It might have been the hand of fate. Or, and this was more likely, his magic had taken charge and sent a ripple of energy to the stage, catching Draco's attention.

Whatever it was, grey eyes turned to Harry and widened in surprise.

"Me," Harry said, praying that his voice remained steady. "I want to do it. Pick me."

Draco's eyes narrowed speculatively. Harry waited with bated breath.

"Okay, sure," Draco said slowly. "You. The uh…wild haired bloke in the third row."

Harry raced to the stage, the cheers and applause ringing in his ears.

As soon as he was in earshot, Draco gripped his shoulder hard. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Making up for being an arse," Harry whispered back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You don't have to do this, Potter. We're good."

"I do. And I want to." He gripped Draco's hand for just a second, a furtive, reassuring squeeze. "I trust you, Draco. With my life."

Draco inhaled sharply and those keen, grey eyes bored into Harry. He stared back, trying to convey everything he couldn't say in words.

What Draco saw, he couldn't say. But he nodded sharply, just once and led Harry to the centre of the stage before grabbing the mic again.

"So, what's your name?" Draco asked. His lips quirked in a half grin.

Harry bit back on a chuckle. "Harry," he replied obligingly.

"Harry," Draco echoed, like he'd never heard the name before. He turned back to the crowd. "How about a big round for Harry, yeah?"

The crowd cheered again.

"So, Harry. I'm going to ask you a couple questions. One, have we ever met before? Passed each other on the street, maybe?"

If Harry could have laughed without risking Draco's insurmountable wrath, he would have. "I think I would remember that," he replied instead, and no, he wasn't even going to pretend that he wasn't flirting any more.

Draco raised an eyebrow but gamely kept the act up. "So, we've never met before and there's no way I could have planned this part of the show with you, correct? Brilliant. Now, next question: do you suffer from any kind of motion sickness? Airsickness, specifically?"

The crowd whooped again and it was clear they could see where this was going.

Harry grinned, thinking of Quidditch and how he and Malfoy had flown circles around each other a long, long time ago.

"Can't say I do," he offered with a shrug.

"Well, that's good," Draco replied, with a glint in his eye. "Because tonight you're going to fly."

Draco took his arm and led him to stand in a circle. "Just relax," he whispered quickly in Harry's ear. "It's an optical illusion, you won't even move. I'll explain later."

Harry kept his eyes firmly on the crowd as Draco turned back to them and explained the dynamics of what he was going to do. He didn't hear much of it…something about levitating Harry with his bare hands, drawing energy from the crowd and would everyone please maintain perfect silence for this portion of the show.

"Ready?" Draco asked after his short speech.

There was a murmur of anticipation but other than that, the crowd gamely held their silence.

"Are _you_ ready?" Draco asked him.

Harry nodded.

Draco flashed him a quick smile. "So, here's what I want you to do, Harry. Nothing at all. Just relax, keep your shoulders loose and close your eyes." His eyes darted up to Harry's again. "And most importantly," he added softly, "trust me."

"No problem," Harry whispered back. And with that, he closed his eyes, giving Draco permission to do as he pleased.

He didn't feel a thing, and that wasn't surprising. Draco had just told him he wouldn't even move. Harry just focused on the sound of his breathing and keeping his eyes firmly shut. Draco was moving now, he could hear the rustle of fabric and quick footsteps across the stage.

The music thrummed up again, soft but picking up quickly. The trick must be underway. The beat picked up pace, intensifying the atmosphere…

Harry heard the crowd gasp. Silence hung in the air for a second or so, and then the applause and cheers rang out so loud that he could feel it reverberate against the stage floor. He smiled to himself, just listening to it all.

A moment later, a gentle hand shook his shoulder. Harry's eyes opened, and he found himself looking right at Draco.

"Alright?" Draco asked, eyes soft with concern.

Harry smiled and nodded.

Draco grinned back and took his hand, turning him towards the crowd again.

Harry took a bow and when he rose again, hand in hand with Draco, his heart felt lighter than before.

* * *

A few hours, Harry Apparated Draco back to his flat. He managed not to chuckle when Draco lost his footing and stumbled a bit.

"I'd…forgotten how disorienting this is," he groaned, doubling over and clutch his stomach.

"You're such a Muggle, Malfoy," Harry teased.

Draco snorted a laugh. "Watch your mouth, Potter. You won't like my retaliation, I promise you."

"What are you going to do, turn me into a frog?" Harry teased.

Draco gave him a shove, which he duly returned. Draco retaliated, so did Harry and before he knew it their impromptu wrestling match had turned into a heady snogging session, right on Draco's ratty old sofa.

Harry hummed in satisfaction as Draco's lips traced a hot, wet path down his neck. His fingers tangled in soft golden strands as he tried to guide Draco in for a proper kiss.

"Mm, c'mere," he coaxed, and for once, Draco didn't fight him.

Their lips met and Harry inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the sudden heat between them, the smooth, confident pull of Draco's lips as he nicked and licked and teased Harry's mouth, the feel of his tongue darting in to explore…

Harry gasped and renewed his grip on Draco, letting his hands skim the length of his back and the curve of his spine.

"You're magical," he murmured, half to himself. He was almost surprised when Draco chuckled.

"Just a Muggle," he reminded Harry with a gentle bite to the collarbone. "Nothing special here."

"That's a load of rubbish," Harry contested. He pulled away to look into Draco's eyes. "You're something special, Draco Malfoy," he repeated firmly. "And it has nothing to do with a wand. This…this is all you."

He must have said something right because Draco surged in for another kiss, frantic and urgent this time. Harry moaned into his mouth, letting Draco run those slim, clever hands down his body, teasing and tempting him until he found what he was looking for.

When Draco's hand went lower, dipping under the waistband of his boxers, that Harry started and realised just what he was doing.

"Hey," he began. "Hold on a second…"

Draco scoffed derisively. "I already know what you're going to say, so let me get it out of the way for you, yeah? Yes, you're an Auror. Yes, I'm serving a sentence. No, you're not taking advantage of me. Yes, I want this. No, we are _not_ stopping."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Okay then."

Draco grinned and resumed his ministrations. Harry's feeble and entirely half-hearted protests fell to the wayside as he was divested of his trousers and boxers. Draco's eyes were dark and stormy as his hands skimmed Harry's hipbones. There was a flash of pink as his tongue darted out to lick his lips and then…

"Oh _god_ ," Harry gasped, bucking his hips on instinct. It didn't deter Draco in the slightest. Grey eyes darted up to flash him a coy look, his cheeks hollowed and his tongue darted over the head of Harry's cock, sinuous and teasing and oh Merlin, _how was he doing that?_

"Draco," Harry gasped, gripping blond strands in his fingers and pushing gently, trying to get Draco to show him a little mercy.

It was a futile plea. Draco was clearly enjoying himself, and he was obviously intending to draw this out. He hummed, low and deep in his throat, letting Harry feel every second of sweet, sweet torture. A moment later, the coy kitten licks resumed, driving Harry into a frenzy.

His grip tightened and he bucked his hips again, beyond caring about the annoyed growl that elicited.

"Please," he managed. "Please, Draco…"

Draco finally deigned to show him some mercy. Sly eyes glinted as Draco swooped in to take his length in one smooth motion.

In that moment, Harry's world converged to a single pin point, the sensation of a hot, tight mouth on him, tonguing and teasing him, bringing him right to the brink…it was hot and wet and tight and _wonderful_ , there was no way he could keep this up…

"Dray…Draco, I'm…oh Merlin, I…"

It's as far as he got. Draco's throat clenched around him and Harry came with a muffled shout, shuddering and arching to his climax as Draco swallowed him down.

His hazy vision refocused and Harry blinked dazedly, valiantly trying to make sense of a world where he'd just been sucked off by Draco bloody Malfoy. Said Draco Malfoy looked bloody pleased with himself as he crawled up Harry's body and angled for a kiss.

Harry growled into the kiss, sated but wanting, needing more. He sat up and pulled Draco up with him, until he was straddling Harry's hips. His trousers were undone and— in a twist of fate that was both convenient and bloody hot— he wasn't wearing boxers. The lust spiked in Harry, deep and sharp as he wrapped his hand around that slim cock. The smooth, hard length gliding against his palm felt right, good and _bloody perfect_.

Draco's head rolled back and he bit down sharply on his bottom lip, stifling a breathy moan. Harry growled and increased his pace, jacking Draco off hard and fast, determined to make him lose composure, to hear sounds of bliss spill from those gorgeous, sinful lips and…

Draco arched and came with a sharp cry, his nails scrabbling for purchase against Harry's shoulders as he came all over them. Harry flicked his wrist in another quick twist and Draco gasped, his eyes flying wide open, blown with pleasure and staring at Harry like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

Harry kissed him, long and slow and deep, pulling Draco to rest against him. He managed to retrieve his wand and cast a quick Cleaning Charm, but it was lost in lazy kisses and soft touches. Harry hummed in pleasure and carded a hand through Draco's hair, affection warring with the exhaustion.

"So perfect," he murmured in between kisses.

Draco purred and curled against him, looking blissed out and sleepy. His eyes were soft and he smiled when Harry pulled him closer.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he mumbled after a spell.

Harry dropped a kiss in his hair. "You've had that for a long time," he said softly. "And hey, don't worry about anything, yeah? I'll work something out with Kingsley. You're keeping your wand."

Draco turned around, looking pensive for a moment. When he got up abruptly and left, Harry didn't stop him. He figured Draco needed some time to himself to figure things out. What he wasn't expecting was for Draco to return from his bedroom, with the wand in his hand.

"Here," he said, handing it to Harry. "Take it," he insisted, when Harry faltered. "I told you I don't need it."

"Draco…"

"It's only two more years, Harry," Draco insisted. "Take it, please. I know it's safe with you."

Harry accepted the offered wand reluctantly. "I just…I don't like the idea of you being without it," he confessed. "I don't want you to feel like…like there's something missing."

Draco smiled. "I don't," he replied easily. "I'm twice the wizard I ever was, and I don't need a wand to prove it. So, take it. Show Shacklebolt that he's got nothing to worry about. And when the time is right, I'll expect you to give it back."

There was nothing else to say, was there.

Harry stowed the wand away carefully. "Always," he promised, trying to convey all his sincerity and conviction in that one word.

And when Draco grinned and kissed him again, he knew he'd succeeded

* * *

The next day, Harry found himself seated in the Head Auror's office, trying not to squirm under Kingsley's unrelenting gaze.

"Really," Kingsley said, sounding unconvinced. "No magic whatsoever?"

"None at all," Harry confirmed. "I sat through his whole act. He checks out. He's just…that good."

"And I assume this investigation was…impartial?" Kingsley pressed.

Harry raised a challenging eyebrow. "You're welcome to send another Auror to conduct a search," he offered. "I guarantee you won't find a thing."

Kingsley held his stare. Harry absolutely refused to be the one to blink first. When Kingsley sighed and leaned back in his chair, he knew he'd won.

"Be that as it may, I would still prefer if you confiscated his wand," he said firmly. "If Malfoy doesn't need it, he should have no trouble…"

Harry placed the wand on his desk, effectively shutting him up. "Turned it over himself," he said coolly. "Like I said, he doesn't need it. Never did."

Kingsley looked like he had plenty to say about that, but ultimately he just nodded brusquely. "You may return it to Malfoy personally once his sentence is over."

Harry nodded and got up to leave.

"Harry."

Harry turned around and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

Kingsley steepled his fingers and gave him a piercing look. "Malfoy has made some amazing progress," he stated carefully. "At this rate, the Wizengamot might even look into reducing his sentence. It would be…unfortunate if certain complications came to light. Specifically, an entanglement of professional and…personal interests between an Auror and a parolee."

Harry kept a neutral expression, not entirely sure if this was a warning or a threat. "I'm don't know what you're talking about," he replied finally.

Kingsley nodded sharply. "See to it that no-one else does either," he replied, going back to his case file. "Dismissed, Auror Potter."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and left, heading straight for his office.

As soon as he was inside, he shut the door, put up a Locking Charm and sat at his desk. His drawer jiggled slightly as he opened it and he slipped Draco's wand in. There. It would be safe here until he could return it. Harry nodded to himself, closed the drawer and Locked it, then went to grab his coat.

A deck of cards fell out of the pocket and on to the floor.

Harry frowned as he picked them up. What on earth…where had these come from? Had he always had these? No. No, of course not. But then...? Harry frowned and racked his brains, wondering just how he could have acquired a deck of cards without knowing about it. Hell, he hadn't even been home yet. He'd woken up at Draco's and there had been no time to change, so he'd just grabbed his coat and…

Wait.

Harry stared at the cards, debating whether or not to open the deck.

If...if Draco had slipped these in his pocket, they had to mean something, right? Something he wanted Harry to see.

Well. Alright then.

Harry took a furtive look around and slowly opened the deck, pulling out the cards.

Blank.

All the cards were blank.

"What the…"

Harry frowned and picked one up carefully. He turned it over, turned it around…nothing. It was just a blank, white card with nothing on it. What kind of silly trick…

The ink bled in from the edges, derailing his perplexed train of thought. Harry stared, eyes widening in growing alarm, as the ink squiggles arranged themselves quickly, forming a single sentence on the white surface.

 _Pick a card._

Magic.

Harry's breath caught as he stared wide eyed at the no longer blank card. The message was clear, unmistakable. He'd seen it appear with his own eyes.

The deck was charmed.

But...but how?! Draco had given him the wand! And this was a complicated Charm...it would certainly take him more than a few seconds to cast it.

What on earth was going on? As Harry stared at the card, he figured he should find out.

So he did as was asked, and hesitantly selected another card.

Also blank.

Then more words appeared, faster this time.

 _Remember when I said I don't need my wand? I meant it. Pick another card._

Harry's hands trembled but he obeyed.

 _I haven't been entirely honest about my magical limitations or lack thereof, have I? To be fair, I didn't know if I could trust you with this. Not until last night. Pick another card._

One more, Harry thought dazedly as he pulled one out.

 _I do now. Pick one more._

He did.

 _You should know that I didn't lie. I only use it for emergencies. Pick one more. Last time, I promise._

Harry selected the final card.

 _Okay, it's not always for emergencies. Do you know how hard it is to make a dove appear out of thin air? Shuffle the deck, Potter. You know you want to._

Harry gathered up the cards, shuffling and reshuffling and reshuffling again. They spun out of his hands, taking control and circling the office in quick, silent swoops. Harry gaped soundlessly as they took flight around him, moving faster and faster, spinning and performing elaborate twists.

And just like that, he figured it out.

Wandless magic, Harry thought with a dazed sort of conviction. Draco can do wandless magic.

He didn't know much about it, but Hermione had been fascinated with it for a while. Only a wizard with an exceptionally strong core and a high magical acumen can perform wandless spells, she had said. It takes great skill and most importantly, inborn talent.

Of bloody course.

Harry burst out laughing— he laughed long and loud with an enchanted deck of cards spinning and swirling about his office because Godric help them all, Draco had told him the truth!

 _I'm twice the wizard I ever was and I don't need a wand to prove it._

"Unbelievable," Harry chuckled, torn between amusement and sheer exasperation.

One of the cards broke from the pack and fluttered over, flitting insistently around him. It hovered in the air, spinning with increasing insistence until he plucked it out of the air gently and turned it over.

The Jack of Hearts.

And before his eyes, the ink blended and faded, rearranging the picture until Draco's handsome face smiled slyly at him. As Harry watched, he lifted a finger to his lips.

It was the smile that did it. In that one moment, Harry knew he was done for.

"Audacious little shit," he murmured affectionately. "Don't worry. All your secrets are safe with me."

Draco winked at him and Harry pocketed the card, keeping it close to his heart. There was a strange sense of privilege in receiving this revelation, this ultimate vote of confidence. It had been a long and hard road but Harry realised that he finally, finally had Draco's complete and unwavering trust.

The magician had revealed all his secrets.

And if Harry did say so himself, it was an honour beyond all imagining.


End file.
